


Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring

by pierrot



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierrot/pseuds/pierrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of unrelated stories through the seasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Kim Ki-Duk film but just for the sake of the framing device; it's otherwise unrelated.
> 
> Only the second part dips into mature territory. Everything else is pretty G-rated.
> 
>  
> 
> More specific details on each section (focus/pairings):
> 
> i. Spring: Ohno [Ohno + Jun]  
> ii. Summer: Sho [Aiba/Ohno/Sho]  
> iii. Autumn: Nino [Nino/Arashi]  
> iv. Winter: Jun [Sho/Jun]  
> v. Spring: Aiba

**spring.**  
  
  
There’s a spot in the park near his apartment that Ohno likes. It’s not that it’s a particularly special spot, he just happened to sit there on an empty bench one day and has returned to that same bench ever since.  
  
It’s nice when he doesn’t have to work and he can sit in the park for hours with his sketchbook. There’s no pressure to do anything, he simply draws whatever catches his inspiration in the moment, and spends the rest of the time gazing at the scenery or the people who pass him by.  
  
Sometimes those people will see him drawing and look curiously for a second before returning to their paths, eyes straight ahead. Children stare longer, more openly. He gives them soft smiles for their trouble.  
  
No one ever approaches him, and that’s why when someone stops beside his bench one day, Ohno assumes that they’ll move on soon. It could be someone nosy just trying to get a better look or a jogger pausing to stretch; that’s happened before. He’s focused on trying to perfect the sketch of a tree he’s been working on all afternoon, so he doesn’t pause to check.  
  
“Excuse me.”  
  
The voice that addresses him is deep and clear, difficult to ignore when there’s no one else around, and Ohno looks up. There’s a man staring back, squinting against the sun in a way that draws his eyebrows together in thick lines over long lashes.  
  
“Sorry to bother you,” the man says before nodding at the sketchbook in Ohno’s hands. “Is it okay if I take a look? I’ve seen you out here a few times before and I’m curious.”  
  
It surprises Ohno that anyone might be interested enough in what he’s been doing to come up and ask, but it’s not an unreasonable request. Wordlessly, he hands his sketchbook over.  
  
The man takes it with a small, grateful smile and moves to take a seat next to Ohno on the bench, settling in for careful examination of every page rather than just a quick flip through. From this angle, Ohno can make a study in profile: strong, near-straight lines that push outwards, making defined angles that converge at a sharp point but are softened by a full mouth and hinted reminders of rounded cheeks that never quite found their place.  
  
Ohno’s not always the best with remembering faces, so he can’t be certain whether or not he’s noticed this man before. It’s a shame. His mind is already conjuring an image of a stark figure against the pink sakura, dressed in black and staring across a pond.  
  
“These are beautiful,” the man says, tracing the lines on the page in front of him with his eyes.  
  
“I draw what I see,” Ohno replies.  
  
“Do you ever sell them?”  
  
It takes Ohno a moment to respond, distracted by thoughts of fine pencil mapping pitted skin. “It’s a hobby,” he says. “Sometimes I give them to friends.”  
  
The man nods. “That must be nice. To have be able to give people something like that.” His fingers run along the edge of the book once before he hands it back over to Ohno. “Thank you.”  
  
“Do you want one?” Ohno asks.  
  
It seemed to Ohno a natural question for him to ask, but he receives an open look of surprise in response.  
  
“I couldn’t.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
A hesitant blink.  
  
“You said you give them to friends,” the man says slowly. “I’m a complete stranger to you.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
The sun is starting to fade, and with it, the late afternoon breeze turns chilly. It’s tricky the way that summer seems so near when the sky shines bright during the middle of the day, but the temperature can still suddenly drop with little warning. Ohno is only wearing a t-shirt and he shivers.  
  
“I should go,” the man says, rising from his seat. “Thank you again. It was nice meeting you.”  
  
Ohno’s not sure that a meeting can really be classified as such when they never exchanged names.  
  
“Stop by again sometime,” he says, before the man can turn away. “Once we’re no longer strangers, I’ll draw something for you.”  
  
Another look of bewilderment is sent his way, and then lips curl upwards as if tugged by an invisible, uncontrollable force. Ohno likes this smile. He liked the way the man looked so thoughtfully serious when he examined Ohno’s drawings, but the smile brings new dimensions to his face, revealing lines that Ohno couldn’t see before.  
  
He wonders if he should tell the man that his face is like spring: the unpredictable transformation that occurs from winter to summer. They just seem like pretty words without substance, and Ohno has always preferred actions to words anyway. He’ll show the man what it is he sees one day through his art.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**summer.**  
  
  
3 o’clock in the afternoon is the time when the sun shows no mercy, beating down from an unmarked sky like the worst kind of asshole. Sho’s shirt sticks to his skin and each rivulet of sweat that slides down his forehead, the underside of his arms, the top of his ass crack, is a new form of torture that he can no longer abide.  
  
He returns to an apartment that is darkened by the heavy blinds blocking every window, but with none of the cool relief he’d been expecting to feel as soon as he crossed the threshold. It makes him want to give up there and then, to collapse into a heap where he stands and maybe find some comfort from pressing his face against the kitchen tiles.  
  
His roommates are sprawled out across the living area. Aiba is lying on his back with his limbs stretched out across the expanse of the floor and his shirt pushed up over his stomach, revealing flat muscles and tanned skin. Ohno is seated near the far wall, head tipped back against the plaster, eyes shut. There’s no acknowledgement from either of them at Sho’s entrance, not even a friendly _“Sho-chan!”_ from Aiba.  
  
“Why is the air conditioning not on?” he asks, letting the door fall shut and dropping his bag to the floor. He should move it somewhere out of the way, but he’s too distracted by how good it feels to lose the constricting weight off his shoulders.  
  
“Broken,” says Aiba from the floor.  
  
“Then fix it.”  
  
“We tried. Too hard. Too hot.”  
  
Sho sighs and moves into the kitchen where the fridge is located. It’s not nearly enough—the chilled air brushing parts of exposed skin feels akin to attempting to mop a puddle with a single tissue—but at least it’s something. He opens the freezer door as well, and that’s an improvement.  
  
“You only get twenty seconds of fridge time,” he hears Aiba say. “It’s a waste of electricity. Also, we ran out of ice and I’m making more.”  
  
Sho lingers for a second longer before shutting both doors. “I’m going to take a shower.”  
  
Aiba mumbles something about wanting one too but he stays put.  
  
It’s definitely too hot for clothes so he only clads himself in a thin pair of boxers after his shower, feeling the damp on his skin already starting to warm as he walks into the living area. Neither Aiba nor Ohno have moved from their positions, both seemingly asleep. He crouches next to Aiba, the closer of the two, and rests his arms across the top of his knees.  
  
“Are you really just going to lie here like this all afternoon?”  
  
Aiba cracks a single eye open. It’s an action that causes half of his face to screw up, the side of his upper lip curling towards his nose and a formation of deep lines appearing around his closed eye. From this angle, Sho can see right inside his nostril.  
  
“We were going to go out somewhere with air conditioning, like a movie or something. But we wanted to wait for you.”  
  
Aiba turns his head closer and reaches a hand out to touch Sho’s shin, curving it around the back of his calf. “You feel nice. Cool. I wanna feel.”  
  
“Masaki, that’s gross, come on. You’re all sweaty.”  
  
Sho tries to remove Aiba’s hold but Aiba is always too quick and unpredictable for Sho to combat. The only warning he gets before he’s toppling to the floor is Aiba’s fingers pressing firm against his leg, and he’s still trying to recover from _that_ surprise when Aiba somehow manages to clamber over him, smothering his body flat against the floor.  
  
“Sho-chan’s skin is so soft,” Aiba says as he lies his torso down onto Sho, aligning their body parts into an imperfect fit.  
  
The fabric of his clothes is rough and heavy, sending prickles that seem to suffocate and Sho needs relief from the warmth. “You're heavy,” he complains, wriggling halfheartedly under Aiba.  
  
“I was thinking, you know?” Aiba’s breath is hot on the side of his neck. “Maybe the heat would be easier to bear if we were distracted.”  
  
“Well I can tell you that this is not a turn on in the slightest. All you’re making me want is another shower.”  
  
“Really?” Aiba rests his forearms on either side of Sho and slides his body down his length. “Even if I do this?” His mouth latches onto one of Sho’s nipples, sucking and biting with languid enthusiasm.  
  
The commotion they’ve been making was apparently enough to rouse Ohno from his slumber, and Sho can see him from his periphery, watching them through heavy lidded eyes.  
  
Aiba shuffles down further and nuzzles his crotch through the cloth of his boxers. “What about this?”  
  
It’s not sexy. It’s hot and uncomfortable and every touch Aiba makes just transfers more sticky sweat that dirties his skin, makes him tingle with the need to wash it away. It’s not sexy, but then, somehow, it _is_ , heat coiling through his belly to match the heat burning across his skin, making him dizzy, and Sho is left admitting that Aiba once again knows what he needs more than Sho does himself.  
  
“Fuck.” He’s panting now, body straining in response to the way Aiba is mouthing his cock. “Masaki…”  
  
“Mm, Sho-chan? Can I help you?”  
  
“Just… _fuck_.”  
  
Aiba laughs and runs his hands along Sho’s thighs, spreading them out before reaching to dance tricky fingers under the hem of his boxers.  
  
Sho knows that Ohno is still there, watching, and he stretches his neck as far as it will go, turning his head awkwardly so he can see their silent observer more clearly. It takes a moment for him to find his voice. “Satoshi,” he says, though it comes out more of a moan. “Satoshi, come here.”  
  
There’s a distinct bulge in Ohno’s shorts but he’s left it untouched, hands curled loosely by his sides. “I don’t want to move,” he says, like something of an apology.  
  
A movement at the edge of Sho’s vision distracts his attention and it’s Aiba’s arm, stretched out towards Ohno, palm open with invitation. “Oh-chan. Please.” Aiba has perfected the art of making his requests impossible to refuse; soft brown eyes and pleading lips bewitching all who look upon them. “It’s not as fun without you.”  
  
Three people together make for a lot of skin to explore, a lot of places to touch, a lot of different noises that come in the form of soft sighs, heady moans, strangled grunts. Sho knows the bodies pressed beside him as well as his own and he likes using that knowledge. He likes expanding upon it too, finding new ways to draw out the reactions he wants most and documenting every success for future use. They’re pioneers, Aiba once said, on a mutual expedition to unlock all of each other’s secrets.  
  
There can’t be many left by now, but Sho is still eager to continue the journey.  
  
It’s still hot by the time they finish, lying breathless on the floor, but it no longer seems so unbearable. The musk of sweat and come settles over the room like a cloud and noises from the street below filter through one of the open windows.  
  
Sho wants to lie still and listen as the sun drops but he’s already feeling the creeping discomfort of drying skin and aching muscles. He wishes he could be more like Ohno, content and relaxed as he is, so effortly sensual just in the way he’s draped across the floor. Aiba is already moving on his other side, with no care about where his elbows land as he crawls over their bodies.  
  
“Movies now?” he asks once he’s found a place that’s somewhere over them and somewhere in between.  
  
Sho yawns and stretches one of his legs. “I’m not thinking about anything until we shower.”  
  
“Are we showering together or _showering together?_ ” asks Ohno.  
  
It’s a good question. He's pretty sure he knows what the answer will be.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**autumn.**  
  
  
Nino dates Aiba when the leaves are green, when the air is still vibrant with warm summer promises and the twinkle of sunlight shining through greying clouds.  
  
Aiba is cinnamon and lean muscles and breathy conversations held under the sheets. He’s the memory of special childhood treasures and thrilling new adventures, of popsicles leaving sticky trails over smooth skin against a backdrop of orange-tinted sky and causing revelations that stir somewhere mostly untouched. They follow a path of nostalgia-laced dreams to a place where the temperature starts to cool but their smiles never quite fade, no need for goodbyes when they know their time is up.  
  
Nino dates Ohno when the leaves start to change, patches of yellow amongst the trees, and everything is quietly still.  
  
Ohno is like one of those trees, an ancient sugi that stands strong and unbroken, weathering countless storms but always lasting with fresh reminders pressed into the bark. His spirit speaks of centuries passed, forgotten battles fought, small streams that trickle into rivers into oceans in a constancy of movement. He’s an anchor that Nino always returns to when he wanders too far and needs to feel the embrace of wiry arms and steady fingers wrapped around his small frame. Reassurances come unspoken but never silent.  
  
Nino dates Sho when the leaves are full of colour, a backdrop of deep oranges and reds that are vivid under the sunlight after the thunderstorms pass.  
  
Sho is always full of smiles. He laughs so loud and unbidden at every minor amusement, revealing a row of white teeth that are large and neatly separated on top, but still clustered and overlapping on the bottom. One of those contrasts that makes the building blocks for his entire being, the gap between what is shown immediately and what lies just below. There are thunderstorms hidden under his skin, sharp cracks of lightning and deep, rumbling noises that never make their way to the surface, tempered by calm strength. Nino doesn’t like getting wet.  
  
Nino dates Jun when the leaves fall, soft brown curling and crackling with strong winds that skim across earthy floors and whip against his face.  
  
Jun brings predictability under a guise of impulsive decisions. There’s an obvious pattern behind every measured movement, a kaleidoscope of heavy emotions that are coloured by pressing desire coursing insistently through his veins. He’s a slow-burning flame protected by a shield of glass, a delicately crafted oil lamp that draws people to him and shines a guiding light. It burns to touch, but Nino’s fingers still seek the warmth, finding a way to store enough heat to carry him through the colds of winter.  
  
Nino falls in love four times with four people and he can’t consider himself greedy for wanting to keep them all.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**winter.**  
  
  
It’s the coldest winter in 24 years, all the news reports say. Jun can feel it deep in his bones, brittle and about to break.  
  
He thinks he might be made of ice. Every day that passes brings a new coldness to his lips that can’t be warmed, not even by the cigarettes he sucks on greedily as he looks over his balcony in the early hours of morning. Smoking has never been a particular habit of his outside of long nights spent drinking with friends and longer days when the stresses of work become too much to bear, but he clings to it more lately. There’s a certain irony to be found in polluting his lungs right before he heads to the gym to discipline his body.  
  
The previous winter was warmer, but it ended so cold. Jun can remember with perfect clarity the way it came to a close, not with fiery outbursts and heated passion, but with a sudden break; a cold snap. There’s a message on his phone that he’ll never delete, a CD in his cabinet that he can never return. Small reminders that chip.  
  
There’s no one to blame but himself. He saw it coming and still he pushed, wanting to see what would happen if he did. He thought that if it was meant to be, then fate would find a way to keep them together.  
  
Clearly, it wasn’t meant to be.  
  
Except that maybe he needs to reconsider that assessment when he finds himself surrounded by crowds of young lovers sharing Valentine’s dates and sees the face he’s been remembering for almost exactly a year.  
  
Sho looks much unchanged.  
  
Jun’s never had any difficulty picturing the bumps of his fingers, the faint lines on his neck, the way his nose crinkles when he sneezes or how his toes curl when Jun hooks his leg over his shoulder. But what he doesn’t realise he’s been missing until now is exactly how Sho’s eyes look when they’re turned towards him, the shock of recognition fading into a familiar tenderness that sparks a small flame deep inside Jun’s chest.  
  
“Hi,” he says.  
  
The wind is whipping icy pinpricks into his skin, and that’s Jun’s excuse for why he trembles.  
  
“Jun. Hi. Wow, you look… you’ve really filled out.”  
  
He supposes he has; it’s been a long time since they’ve seen each other. A long time, and yet Sho still refers to him casually by name as if nothing has changed. Jun wonders if Sho even noticed that he forgot the formalities.  
  
“I’ve been exercising a lot lately,” he says, not certain why he’s even telling Sho this except that he doesn’t know how to break past the trap of painfully awkward small talk. “I figured I’m not exactly getting any younger.”  
  
Sho smiles. “Tell me about it. These days, if I ever try to eat ramen late at night, my face just bloats like a balloon the next morning.”  
  
He laughs, and it’s a chance for Jun to join him but the required response gets stuck in his throat. He swallows thickly and looks away.  
  
“I should let you get back to what you were doing," he says, gaze somewhere over Sho's shoulder. "Sorry for stopping you in the middle of the street like this.”  
  
“Oh, no, I’m not doing anything important, really.” Sho shifts a little closer, bringing warmth that unfurls between them. Jun nearly leans into it. “Actually, I’m glad. I always wanted to apologise to you in person for how things ended. I never should have left like that.”  
  
Jun doesn’t want this. “It’s fine,” he says, still not looking at Sho directly. “It wasn’t your fault.”  
  
“But I’m still sorry.”  
  
Jun stares at the display of a shop window, decorated in red and pink ribbon with hearts made of glitter. He thinks of shared bookcases, of early morning lattes, of meals cooked for two and he looks at Sho.  
  
"Thank you." His voice is small, almost unheard. "I'm sorry too."  
  
Something seems to be released in Sho's face at that, but absence has dulled Jun's ability to read the meaning behind his expressions. There is nothing left for him to say now, so he swallows down the dry feeling in his mouth and offers Sho a small nod of farewell.  
  
“It was nice to see you again, Sho-san.”  
  
A hand is on his arm before he can walk away. Sho draws back immediately but Jun can still feel the imprint burning through his jacket, almost as bright as the need he sees in Sho's eyes.  
  
“Hey, are you busy right now? It’s just, I thought it might be nice to talk a little longer. If you’re free. We could grab a coffee or something?”  
  
There’s so much hope on Sho’s face that Jun swears he can feel his heart in his throat, cracks under his skin threatening to splinter.  
  
“I missed you, Jun.”  
  
He breaks.  
  
Jun is made of ice but he’s starting to melt.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**spring.**  
  
  
Conversations amongst his co-workers about the best time and place for cherry blossom viewing revolve around avoiding the worst of the crowds, but Aiba doesn’t agree with that perspective. The crowds are a fundamental part of the experience. He likes being surrounded by a mass of people, almost all complete strangers to him but sharing a single purpose. It’s similar to how watching a baseball game in a cramped and rowdy bar is better than watching it alone at home, and sitting in the actual stadium with thousands of fellow fans is even better than that.  
  
Aiba was always the kid who woke up too early on birthday mornings, sitting huddled on his bed in the dark until he deemed it early enough to rouse the rest of the household. He’s still that same kid in many ways, and it means he arrives at the park half an hour before any of his friends will be there.  
  
It’s a somewhat useless action, as Aiba doesn’t have the picnic mat, but he doesn’t mind. He’s happy walking around the park for a while by himself, stopping to talk to various people setting up for their parties or just wandering through, asking them interested questions about their day and sharing morsels food prepared specially.  
  
He’s just started conversation with a young married couple when a gentle tug at his trouser leg interrupts him mid-sentence. Aiba looks down and sees a girl of about three or four, holding onto him with a tiny fist and staring at the ground with her head turned shyly away.  
  
Carefully, he crouches down to greet her. “Hi,” he says once their faces are almost level. “What’s your name?”  
  
She says nothing.  
  
Aiba waits for a few seconds longer, in case she’s still finding her words, and smiles gently when she doesn’t. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. I’m Aiba; it’s very nice to meet you.”  
  
He glances back up at the couple he was speaking with before they were interrupted. “Is she yours?” he asks, and receives rather alarmed looks at the suggestion, heads shaking in unison. He turns back to the girl. “Where are your parents? Do you know?”  
  
She still won’t speak or look at him directly but there’s the slightest shake of her head. Aiba frowns.  
  
Looking around their immediate area doesn’t reveal anyone who seems like they could be the girl’s family. If she’s travelled far from them, he knows they’re likely to be searching already, and he’s reluctant to attempt to try find them first in case it only delays the entire process.  
  
He gives her most reassuring smile and says, “How about we wait here for them? I’m sure they’ll be by soon.”  
  
She looks at him then with wide eyes and Aiba has to hope she’s not feeling too afraid.  
  
The couple with them agrees to find someone who might be able to help locate the girl’s family and they set off, leaving Aiba to look after her. His legs are aching a bit from squatting but he’s reluctant to stand, thinking of how he would tower her with his height.  
  
Aiba doesn’t have a picnic mat, but he does have a bag full of food, and he pulls it off his shoulder to rest on the ground.  
  
“Are you hungry?” he asks, reaching inside the bag for the containers stacked inside.  
  
She blinks at him and looks down, mouth falling open as she peers at the contents of his bag. Aiba lifts out a small brown box and rests it on his knees.  
  
“Do you like sakuramochi?” He takes one of the sweets out of the box and holds it out to her. She reaches for it slowly, fingers wrapping around the soft exterior, and Aiba waits until he’s sure she’s got it firmly in her grasp before letting go. “Did you eat any on Hinamatsuri? I hope so. Special days should have special food, don’t you think? That’s why you can’t eat some things all the time, even when they’re delicious. It makes them taste better when you finally get to.”  
  
The girl doesn’t seem to mind him asking her questions that she doesn’t answer, staring at his face as she lifts her sakuramochi to her mouth and takes a small bite, chewing slowly.  
  
Aiba smiles. “Good, huh?” He reaches into the box and takes one for himself. It means there won’t be enough for later, but that’s not important.  
  
He continues a steady stream of one-sided conversation as they eat together, random comments and half-remembered stories spilling directly from his mind to his lips. She giggles at him when he imitates his friends and it spurs him on, face twisting into increasingly ridiculous expressions just to see her smile remain.  
  
The girl’s parents find them eventually. A mixed outpouring of frantic worry and overwhelming relief, brief rushes of gratitude falling from their lips before they turn their focus entirely on their daughter. She disappears behind their bodies and it’s how it’s supposed to be, a happy ending, but it’s still a little sad.  
  
Aiba finds himself face-to-face with a young woman: the girl’s aunt, who takes the task of thanking him for keeping her niece safe. She’s attractive—long hair falling gracefully past her shoulders when she bows and glossy lips pressing into a small pout between words spoken. He can tell that there’s a spark of interest behind the concern for her niece in her pretty eyes when she talks to him.  
  
“You must be feeling tired,” she says after he tells her how long he waited crouched with her niece. “Can I offer you some tea? It’s the least we can do to repay you for your help.”  
  
It’s a kind offer, with just a hint of suggestion. Maybe, in another life, Aiba would accept the invitation and spend a pleasant few hours sipping tea with a pretty lady, turning an unexpected meeting into something more.  
  
“Thank you, but I can’t,” he tells her, not feeling regretful enough to apologise. It's hard to care about what might be when he knows what is, and he knows that nothing could ever quite compare.  
  
“I have people waiting for me.”  
  
(When he finally arrives at his party’s location, he’s scolded for being late and for not bringing the right amount of sakuramochi. He laughs it off and finds himself a place in the middle of warm bodies on the picnic mat.  
  
Aiba likes crowds, he likes meeting new people and being surrounded by a sea of strangers, but for those he keeps closest to him, he only wants the four people he loves the most.)


End file.
